


I find it hard to believe you don't know

by quietwandering



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25705513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietwandering/pseuds/quietwandering
Summary: The beauty you areBut if you don't let me be your eyesA hand to your darkness, so you won't be afraid
Relationships: Johnny Marr/Morrissey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	I find it hard to believe you don't know

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small piece to tide everyone over as I'm busy working on a much longer AU once again. This was meant to be under 1k, but - oh well!
> 
> Title is [I'll Be Your Mirror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMeZCPbM6bA) by The Velvet Underground

Royalties had finally come in for our first album. It was an incredulous feeling for all of us, holding a cheque of that significance. It wasn't exactly a life changing amount, but it would get us by for more than a few month's rent. Johnny’s entire face had lit up, his brown eyes glittering with excitement, and I found my usually demure attitude set aside for once at the sight of his unabated joy.

Andy and Mike had wanted some time to themselves - we had just finished a few recording sessions for the new single earlier that day - so Johnny decided that I had to be the one to celebrate with him. I had hesitated to ask about Angie as I would undoubtedly hear that awful tone in my voice again, the one tinged with obvious despair, but Johnny just shrugged and said this was a celebration all our own.

Johnny said he would come round to my flat later that night after he'd picked us up some wine. I had a mild episode of insufferable idiocy and agreed to cook us a nice dinner to compliment it, but - I couldn't prepare anything other than beans on toast. After some thought, I decided it best to save our little soiree from unmitigated disaster and walked to the nearest chipper, ordering whatever wasn’t drenched in needless death (which was mostly chips, but that was about all Johnny ate _anyways_ , so).

When he arrived around 8 that evening, he was already a little unsteady on his feet. It made me quite worried about the fact he’d driven here, but he marched himself inside with little regard for my admonishments. He had seemingly bought most of the off license and stuffed it all into two brown paper bags, and I watched with growing concern as he unpacked several bottles of wine, a bottle of gin, two bottles of whiskey, and a bottle of champagne (Perrier, to be exact, which was one of my favorites).

“That seems a bit much for just the two of us, doesn't it?”

Johnny just rolled his eyes at me and explained that we were _proper_ indie pop stars now, so we had to act like it, then went to the kitchen to search for cups. I didn’t have any wine glasses so we settled for dinner ones instead, clinking them together before downing half of the contents in one go. 

We sat and talked for nearly an hour while Johnny effortlessly drank down an entire bottle of Prosecco. I wondered how he managed it - I’d barely touched the rest of my rosé - and watched with mild amazement when he reached for the whiskey. He didn’t even pour it into his glass, just sipped at it and cradled it between his knees.

“This is it, y’know? Me and you, this is it, innit? Next stop, the world,” Johnny mumbled as he scooted closer and leaned against my shoulder. I gently put my arm around him and stroked his hair, combing it through my fingers. “It’s like...we’ve still got so many bloody songs in us! We’re unstoppable, you and I. Me and you.” 

“We are quite prolific it would seem,” I answered after a moment of thought. Johnny sat the whiskey on the floor and sunk his head into my lap so I rested my hand on his shoulder instead. He always felt so incredibly frail under my fingertips. I'd never know how was he was able to play a guitar half his weight for hours on end without complaint. He always made it seem so easy. “I’ve already started to pen down a few new ideas, though I still work best alongside your music.” 

Johnny hummed, soft and wavering, before he started to pat at his pockets. I thought he was looking for his cigarettes, but he pulled out a small bag instead. The pungent smell gave me an immediate idea of what was inside it, and while I’d usually complain I figured now was as an appropriate time as any - we were meant to be celebrating after all.

As he began to busy himself with his pipe, I slipped away to put on a record. I flipped through an entire stack before settling on _The_ _Velvet Underground and Nico_ , though I flipped it to play the B-side first. _Heroin_ fit my mood better right then, with its tragic tones of melancholy and such. When I got back to the couch, Johnny was sunk into the cushions with a soft smile on his face, wiggling his toes in the carpet with a childish glee. 

“Guy at the store had some _incredible_ shit for sale. Can’t fuckin' believe it,” Johnny whispered, glancing over at me. I didn’t have much to say on the matter, just shrugged a little - but Johnny had other machinations in mind. Without warning, he shoved the pipe between my lips and started to light it. I wanted to pull away but Johnny’s other hand was firmly on my jaw, keeping me in place. “Here, no. No, it’s okay. Just breathe in when I say.” 

I pushed at Johnny’s arm ineffectively, trying to tamp down the panic, but I soon realized I wasn't getting out of this - and that it'd be easier to just give in. With a chagrined expression, I slowly inhaled the acrid smoke and tried to hold it in my lungs for a while like Johnny did, but I felt a burning sensation crawl up my throat and started to cough uncontrollably, great grey plumes billowing out of me like a biblical serpent.

Johnny quickly tugged the pipe away so I could catch my breath, patting my shoulder a little to help out, which only served to embarrass me further. “You’ll like this, I swear it. You’ll be so fuckin’ relaxed. It’ll really help, y’know?”

I didn’t ask _what_ it was meant to help, exactly, because I'd undoubtedly not like the answer. Johnny settled back into the couch and continued to smoke until his small bit of marijuana had blackened - then immediately took a long drink of whiskey. I should have maybe suggested he try a glass of water instead, but I could tell Johnny was intent on getting out of his own head for a little while. 

A few quiet minutes ticked past, and I started to slowly feel an inexplicable giddiness bubbling up inside of me. It trickled down my spine and down into my fingertips. It was almost...euphoric - which was vastly different to the usual bouts of anxiety and paranoia I experienced while high. Everything felt the slightest bit softer, and I swayed along to the steady thump of the music - my body in tune every word, my chest tight with how deeply it all reverberated inside of me. “ _I find it hard to believe you don't know the beauty you are, but if you don't - let me be your eyes, a hand to your darkness, so you won't be afraid_.” 

I was hardly able to focus on anything but the dust motes passing through my periphery - they glimmered beautifully in the low light, like tiny crystalline structures - so I was startled when Johnny crawled into my lap and impatiently pushed his fingers through my hair, demanding my attention. I let myself look up at him, let myself really take in the sight of him for once, and felt entranced by what I saw. His eyes had a glassy sheen over them, the whites of them fractured with a multitude of red lines, which only seemed to make the deep brown all the more alluring. His beauty was indescribable, absolutely striking - all the words I had read and wrote would never amount to anything in comparison to the gentle slope of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks. Here was perfection manifested into physical form and compounded down into one waif like boy from Wythenshawe.

Our lips touched, and I held onto him in hopes that it would ground me. I thought I would otherwise vanish into my own mind, never to be seen again. When his tongue slipped hungrily into my mouth, I couldn’t imagine a world without his taste anymore - it was whiskey and cigarettes with a touch of something that was uniquely his own. 

I wasn’t sure how long we kissed, I wasn’t sure if we ever stopped, but I found myself in bed somehow - and I could no longer hear the record playing. I could only hear the sounds of my own breath, thunderous in the silence of the room. I didn’t remember taking my shirt off, yet I could feel the cool air running across my bare chest. Johnny appeared next to me, somehow equally shirtless, smiling as bright as the sun.

“C’mere,” Johnny murmured, and I did. I would go wherever he desired, I always would, and he knew that - so I allowed myself to be pulled down between his thighs with little resistance. I watched as he began to unsnap the fly of his jeans, and a part of me, somewhere, started to question if this was of sound judgement. This moment could easily become a regret, a fracture in our usual intimacy, but then Johnny’s length was in front of me and that became all I could focus on. 

I could hardly breathe, could hardly see, when I felt the tip shove between my lips, but Johnny’s hand was in my hair, guiding me along. I clutched at his hips and dug my nails into the skin when it was too much, gasped for breath whenever he’d slip out and slide his cock along my cheek, as if to mark me in some obscene way. I'd never done this before, with my mouth on another man like this, so I wasn't sure what I was meant to do other than lie there. My jaw ached, my scalp burned - but I knew I wanted this. I wanted Johnny however I was able to have him.

“Oh, _fuck_ -” I glanced up, wide eyed, when I tasted Johnny’s release on my tongue. I tried to pull away, desperate to rid myself of the unpleasant taste flooding my mouth, but Johnny just tightened his fingers in my hair, pulled it to the point it hurt. Wincing, I made myself swallow, but most of it still slipped out and went down my chin in a sticky mess. “Moz. Moz, _fuck_.” 

As Johnny softened, I was able to wriggle away and cough out the rest onto the sheets. I tried to wipe at my face, but my fingers were uncooperative - so I just rubbed my face against Johnny's thigh like an oversized feline. That was when Johnny seemed to remember to let go of my hair, and I sighed appreciatively at the relief that washed through me. 

I cradled my head into Johnny’s hip after he'd gotten his jeans tugged up, adrift in the ocean of my thoughts. When Johnny had fallen asleep, I pulled myself up to the pillows and kicked my trousers off, scrambling under the blankets before I got too cold. I was hard, achingly so, but felt far too exhausted to do much about it - and my limbs felt far too heavy to be of any use anyways.

So I watched the ceiling spin in slow, undulating circles above me and let the fog slowly clear from my mind. Johnny shifted to lie against my chest after a while, his small frame slotting perfectly against my own, and I wrapped my arms tightly around him in a protective embrace. I rested my face into his hair and breathed in his comforting scent before I fell into a deep sleep, vaguely hoping that I'd never wake up, that I would never have to face another day without him by my side.


End file.
